Students of War
by ExpansionistTreecat
Summary: Catherine Mozak, while young, seems like any other aspiring RMN officer, however, her past holds a dark secret. This Is my First Fanfic, so please R&R. More to come!
1. Chapter 1

**_This is my first fanfic, please review with any sort of constructive criticism. I would Like some Ideas on how well the characters are developing and would appreciate any help or tips that you can supply. Thanks and Enjoy. _**

**Obligatory Legal Stuff and Disclamer: **While the most of the material from this is mine, any place, character, or ship mentioned in cannon, belongs to David Weber.

ATC Tactical Simulators  
>Saganami Island Naval Academy<br>Manticore  
>September 1930 P.D.<p>

Ensign Catherine Mozak winced as yet another of the battlecruisers leading her defense force disappeared from the display in a silent ball of fury. In a real battle, that would have meant the loss of nearly five hundred uniformed men and women, yet, as this was just a simulation, all it meant was that her task force had been reduced to just fifteen battlecruisers while the aggressor's still had its full complement of 24. She had started with only 18, yet she was nearly at her acceptable loss limit of five BC's and seven of the screen.

Then, as Catherine typed a command into her console, six hundred of the pods deployed behind the rapidly accelerating 'enemy ships' belched out 5,400 missiles. At the same time, each of her battlecruisers launched a full broadside of missiles along with those in their attached pods. Almost 11,000 ship-killers were in that onslaught of impeller signatures. More than 450 targeted each of the attacking vessels. "Only" 4,800 of those missiles made it past the exquisitely timed and executed counter-missile launches, however, every single one of those missiles made it past the last-ditch defenses of the laser point-defense clusters that should have killed at least half of them. Two hundred laser-heads pumped X-rays into each of the aggressor fleet's ships.

Every one of the 24 crimson marks on Catherine's display vanished. Two of them were replaced by the purple crosses denoting wrecks that still might 'have' life on them. The other _twenty-_two of them had vanished in the maelstrom of destruction that had ravaged through those ships. Most likely, they had blown up when one of their fusion plants had failed and let the small star inside it free. No less than thirty seconds later, two hundred white diamonds representing missiles appeared from within one hundred thousand kilometers of Catherine's 'flagship' and flew towards it at nearly 5,000 gravities higher an acceleration than her missiles could pull. Given their low starting velocity, her only counter-missile launch killed nearly three-quarters of them and the one laser launch, fired at the last possible moment, killed 30 more. Compared to the tidal wave of her launch, the salvo that sped towards Catherine's command was barely even a ripple, yet 20 missiles managed to get within the 25 thousand kilometer range necessary for the missiles to have effect. Only one-sixth of the lasers fired by the missiles managed to hit their target, but it was enough.

Catherine could only watch in horror as the damage reports flooded her display._ How could those missiles hit their targets when in ballistic for that long,_ she thought, bewildered. Less than a second later, she, scolding herself for her momentary lapse, forced herself to truly pay due attention to those reports. The damage wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Only one 'fatality' had been reported, and the computer had determined that only six crewmembers were wounded in the attack. However, her flagship would not be able to "return home" until "extensive repairs" were completed.

The sim had lasted for 100 minutes, 22.54 seconds, Catherine's losses were less than one-sixth that of her opponent, who had been at ATC for nearly a whole semester longer than she, a lieutenant-commander nearly twice her age, already with hyper capable command under his belt. To be fair, he wasn't exactly a tactical genius. He was good, but he was not innovative and his numerical advantage was not large enough to be decisive, causing his tactics to be largely ineffective against her superior tech.

Catherine stepped away from her simulator and walked into the debriefing room. _Now to spend fifteen minutes watching the battle, and nearly two hours picking it apart by an officer who has been an Admiral longer than I've been alive,_ she thought, _what fun!_

...

"So, Cathy, how did that sim go?"

Lieutenant Kevin Anderson was an assistant to one of the instructors at the Saganami Island Main Campus, and was due to take the ATC at the start of the next term. At just a shade under 2 meters tall, the San Martino was a giant. Born on a world with one of the strongest gravity wells of an inhabited planet, there wasn't a milligram of excess weight on him, his blue eyes and blonde hair was uncommon for one from San Martin, yet, it only added to his already powerful appearance.

Catherine looked down into her mug, replying only with, "Be thankful _I'm_ not defending the Sollies."

The whole table of junior officers did a double take at that statement, _Ensign Catherine Mozak never said anything remotely resembling humor, and it was rare that she would even crack a smile, so why would she joke about something as serious as an ATC simulation,_ thought Anderson. _She's a peculiar one, that's a definite._ A couple of seconds later, she elaborated, "I lost just over fifteen hundred people, and they did not have a single survivor. I could have scaled that up without to many more casualties for up to twice as many opponents. But that's not even the best part, apparently I was up against that idiot Berkley, not Matteson, and it was her final exam!"

_Now_ Lieutenant Anderson understood: Lady Harriet Berkley was the daughter of the Duke of Manchyr Bay, one of the few members of the old Liberal Party left in the House of Lords. Berkley had gotten into ATC by pure patronage and somehow thought that her lack of talent made her superior to every other student on Saganami. "If patronage can put her into the ATC, then I think that our ensign here has demonstrated that it sure as _hell_ won't get her through it," he said.

Humor was not out of place for the Lieutenant, and neither was vulgarity, and everybody laughed, except for one Ensign Catherine Mozak, who only let the barest of smiles show through her normal mask of a face.

* * *

><p>"She's good, I'll grant you that. I don't regret breaking nearly every precedent for this from the past 20 years and putting her in ATC this early, but I don't believe that she is ready to move on yet. Yes, she blasted damn near twenty-five battlecruisers out of the sky; however, she was only a couple of missile hits away from hitting her acceptable loss limit."<p>

Admiral Hamish Alexander-Harrington, Earl of White Haven and Commandant of Saganami Island Advanced Tactical Course, was referring to the young ensign who had just soundly defeated the forces of an officer nearly twice her age, and with about that amount more experience. He was responding to his wife's suggestion that she take a break from the ATC to do a cruise with a certain officer who had recently acquired flag rank. "I know that being Tremaine's flag lieutenant would do her good, but she is really young. She might take the transfer badly."

"So, you're saying that she would think that, because she was transferred out of the ATC, she had flunked out. I see where you are coming from, but what if she proves that she isn't up to the challenge of 'The Crusher?'"

"Then we'll have a whole lot of issues on our hands. The first of which will be that some force of nature has kept one of the most qualified tactical officers the RMN has from ever gaining the command of a starship, and that that force of nature needs to be dealt with. Second, that same officer will be unable to contribute to the war effort to her upmost, and we, as two of the Navy's most senior officers will have to contend with that fact. And," Lord White Haven said, "Neither of us will let that happen. If she has to stay an extra semester or two, so what! It's not uncommon, especially for the more junior students, so it shouldn't be a problem."

* * *

><p>At 180 centimeters, Catherine Mozak was about average height. However, that was just about the only average thing about her: her eyes were grey, but with the gleam of cold steel, her rich auburn hair reached only halfway to her shoulders, she was extraordinarily slim, but she seemed to emanate supernatural strength. She was demonstrating her near-demonic reflexes on the Grayson-style fencing salle. She was sparring with a muscular Marine in Grayson uniform, and his reflexes were those of decades of training and natural skill. However, Catherine's reflexes, while not supernatural, were not merely human: she was genetically engineered to have the most efficient muscle mass, the fastest reflexes and the most powerful metabolism that Manpower, Incorporated could put into a human body.<p>

To a casual observer, it may have looked as if each of the fencers had landed dozens of blows upon one another. However, the reality was that neither one had been able to score a touch upon the other for nearly ten minutes, and that the blades had only come close to hitting their target before they were deflected or blocked. One flurry of blows later, the tip of Catherine's blade was touching her partner's neck. The cool touch of steel caused the Marine to take a step back and bow to his opponent, conceding the victory. _Funny,_ Catherine thought,_ I'm an officer in the most modern armed force in the galaxy and I spend my time practicing with weapons that are nearly three millennia out of date. I guess that is because of the way I was raised._

Catherine had been the 'prototype' of the new genotype for Manpower, and they used her as the guinea pig for a number of experimental techniques. Her body wasn't the twenty-two T-years that it appeared to be, even considering prolong. It had only existed for just over six and a half years. However, her consciousness had existed on first century ante-diaspora Earth for a sixteen-year universe simulation that ended at the precise moment that her body looked sixteen in a society with prolong. _Well, _she thought_, I guess that they called it 2012 C.E. not 90 Ante-Diaspora back then._ Her mind and memories were then transferred into the body that she now inhabited. Apparently, the plan was that she would be used by Mesa and Manpower as some sort of super weapon, but she had not stayed long enough to be informed of exactly what she was a weapon of when she jumped on the first ship heading out of Mesa to Manticore that she could find. Upon reaching Manticore, she applied for asylum, citizenship, and for admittance into the Royal Manticoran Naval Academy. She had gotten all three. She had calculated her birthday to follow with her recollection of her age. Upon graduating from the Academy, she had served as a junior officer aboard the Super-dreadnought HMS _Inconceivable_ at the Third Battle of Spindle, which had gone similarly to the other two. Following which, she had been the tactical officer aboard the Destroyer HMS_ Squire_; that_ stint was not anywhere near as eventful as the one aboard_ Inconceivable, Catherine thought, continuing her reflection on how she ended up where she was.

After serving on the _Squire_, Catherine had entered ATC, leapfrogging over dozens of other, more senior, officers in the process and stepping on almost as many toes. She knew the age differential would cause jealousy, even dislike, yet she was not even remotely prepared for the actual reality that seemed to face her every day at the ATC campus. There were those who did not share the other officer's distaste, nonetheless, deep inside, even they mirrored that same resentment. _My, aren't you taking a depressing look on reality today!_ Catherine scolded herself;_ I really should work on my missile doctrine paper, seeing as I am editing it with Helen and Robin in about sixteen hours. _Catherine looked up, realizing that her thoughts had carried her to the center of the campus, almost a whole kilometer from her dorm complex.

That was when she heard the shill wail of alarm sirens. Pure instinct, hard earned by dozens, if not hundreds of drills, launched every student lounging about into a dead run for the nearest emergency shelters.

Every student except for one Ensign Catherine Mozak.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thank you GraysonPaladin and joelwilliamson for reviewing and thank you everyone else who read the story for reading. I hope that you all are having an excellent holiday season, and wish you all a very happy New Year. GraysonPaladin posed a few points about the setting. The Manticoran-Havenite Wars have been formally resolved and the Conflict between Manticore ant the Solarian League has Escalated to a war with the Manticoran Alliance, and Haven are fighting for their Lives with the Solarians. Enjoy and please review.**

_It is a neurotoxin,_ Catherine thought. _It has to be a neurotoxin. Nothing else can have this effect on me._ Catherine's muscles were not responding to the frantic commands that shut down her neurons, every instinct in her body was screaming at her legs to follow the mass of bodies heading for the nearest shelter, yet Catherine had not moved a millimeter. She forced herself to calm down and checked which muscles would and would not respond. When she looked around, she learned that her neck muscles still responded, as did those that governed the movement of her eyes.

What she saw was altogether worse than her own inability to move. It was gigantic, it was airborne, and it soon would be sitting on what would no longer be the Royal Manticoran Naval Academy. A moment later, a sudden falling sensation told Catherine that the neurotoxin had stopped giving her muscles the energy that they needed to keep her standing. The automatic reflexes born from years of martial arts training threw Catherine's arms between the rapidly approaching ceramacrete walkway and her vulnerable head, confirmation that the neurotoxin had worn off. It shouldn't have mattered, as, if a certain Lieutenant Commander Kevin Anderson hadn't been fixing a personnel SAM unit, he would never have launched an impeller missile from an appropriate distance to cause the falling projectile to disintegrate as the gravitic forces from an impeller wedge ripped into it. As it was, several, very small, pieces remained and slammed into the ground at nearly 1,400 meters per second.

One of these pieces landed less than five meters away from Catherine. The kinetic energy from the falling shrapnel created a shockwave that knocked her into the side of the nearest building. Even her genetically heightened reflexes were not fast enough to keep her head from slamming onto the wall. The last thing that she saw before losing consciousness was the splintered wreckage of the once proud fountain that had stood at the center of the square.

* * *

><p>"Well?"<p>

"The head injury is minor. However, there is some sort of toxin in her bloodstream. I'm not sure what it is, and I'm not going to even waking her until I do."

Vice Admiral Prescott Tremaine had been just as surprised as anyone by what had to have been a unprovoked bombardment of the planet. He had had been, as his current post in ONI required him to, using every resource available to him to find out what exactly the attack was. _Commander Anderson had been helpful, _he thought, _but he knew next to nothing about the attack. It is hard to blame him though; he did just save the lives of every single student and teacher at the Academy._

The most aggravating part about the Ensign's continued state of unconsciousness was that, while he did know that she was a very important piece in this multi-dimensional puzzle, he neither knew where she fit in nor did he have a clear picture of even what her piece would tell him. Tremaine turned on his heels and started to walk towards the door. He still had about a meter to go when he heard an anxious alto voice ask, "How long was I out?"

Everyone turned to look at the young woman who was supposed to be unconscious because of the combined effects of a head injury and a heavy dose of sedative. She hadn't moved except to open her eyes, but she seemed to have perceived the entire wardroom. The nurse who, until the unexpected inquiry was voiced, was preparing a test on the toxin that had been found, replied, "You have been unconscious for nearly 96 hours, we didn't wake you because we needed to run some tests firsts."

"Would those tests happen to be about the neurotoxin in my bloodstream? Don't bother with them, it is a first century ante-diaspora muscle-inhibitor. It does not have any lasting effects." Catherine's voice was calmer than Tremaine thought his would have been in her place. But before he could formulate a thought about the actual meaning of her statement, the nurse asked, "And how would you know that little tidbit, miss?"'

Catherine, her voice suddenly devoid of all emotion, answered, "It being the reason that I was not with the rest of the people in the square heading for the nearest shelter, and as there isn't anything else that I know of that would have such an effect on me. It could only have been that neurotoxin or something so similar that it would not matter."

"OK… Can you give us the name of this toxin?" The nurse now sounded genuinely interested.

"I do not remember the name; however, I can point you to the database entry." Catherine's voice had lost its steely edge and she picked up a minicamp from the bedside table. She typed on it for a few moments and then handed it to the nurse, saying, "Here it is, I hope that it helps. By the way, am I free to go?"

"Not quite," Tremaine spoke this time, "While you are no longer required to be in medical, the Navy still needs to debrief you. I will be back in ten minutes to bring you to Admiralty House so we can get this over with." With that, he left the room.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, but the whole campus will be closed until the investigation is over. Unfortunately, that includes the dorms. We will be happy to reimburse you for the expense of an apartment or hotel if you chose to stay at one, but, again, we cannot house you on campus for a few weeks, until the investigation finishes. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."<p>

_Well, here is one downside of being accepted to Saganami Island straight from my arrival, _Catherine thought, _you never learn where a good place to stay might be._ "You would not happen to know a good place to stay until the dorm opens back up, would you?" She asked the secretary at the front desk in reply to his profuse apologies.

"Yeah, sure. There is an apartment complex in Landing City that has suite vacancies out for short-term leases. I believe that it is called 'Willowmont.'"

"I'll look into it, thanks." Catherine nodded to the secretary, turned, and walked out of the office, saluting to the guard standing just outside the door. She was looking for a shuttle to Landing City when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Catherine turned quickly—but not quite sharply—to face the man who did tap her. Who, to her surprise, was a female flag officer. Even more to her surprise, that flag officer's medal board had the crimson, blue, and white of the Parliamentary Medal of Valor. Catherine's hand was saluting in reflex almost before she realized what she was seeing. "Yes, commodore?"

Commodore Ginger Lewis had been one of the assistant instructors for ATC for past semester, and she thought that she had gotten to know Ensign Mozak quite well over that time. The one look Lewis had never expected to see on Catherine's face, that of worry, was on it now. All memory of her original purpose gone, Ginger asked, "At ease. What's wrong, Ensign?"

"Mesa was behind the attack." Catherine's reply was terse, almost dismissive.

_Something is really on her mind; this could be big._ Ginger finished the thought by bracing herself for the Catherine's reply to her question, "That's the opinion of ONI as well. Why is it worrying you so much?"

"It wasn't just some sort of terrorist attack, they were after me." Catherine's eyes bored into Ginger's, they were as cold as liquid helium. "What I am about to tell you," Catherine continued, "must not be relayed to anyone else. It is the reason Mesa attacked Saganami four days ago."

"If you know the reason, why shouldn't it be shared?"

"Because it involves me."

"Wait, you're saying that Mesa is risking being discovered breaking the Eridani Edict to eliminate just one person?"

"Well they would have had the added benefit of killing almost every midshipman in the Navy, along with a number of flag officer's including you, Earl White Haven, and Steadholder Harrington. But the main reason for their attack was to kill a guinea pig for an experiment that didn't quite work out the way they wanted it to."

"What experiment can be that important?"

"One which can create super-soldiers that the Ukrainians couldn't dream of creating. No, I am not one of those; I just was guinea pig for the technique. They do not want the knowledge of the technique to get out, as these soldiers have a big, gaping weakness: emotion. For the soldiers emotion is like a 'safe-word,' they usually have their emotions turned off, but if something triggers them, they become incapable of violence."

"Well," Ginger replied, "It looks like a couple of things need to happen; the first is that you need to get someplace to live. My last roommate was killed in action a month ago, so I have room at my place. Do you want to come?"

"Saves me the cost of finding a place. And the second thing?"

"The second thing is that we need to train you in some of the less elegant forms of combat. You can hack almost anyone to bits and you can blow them into oblivion from 100 million klicks away. But, for you, anything in between, you are dead meat."

"Sounds good, when do we start?"

* * *

><p>"Well, this investigation requires us to change some of our plans," Fleet Admiral Honor Alexander-Harrington, Steadholder and Duchess Harrington, said. Her tone was almost whimsical, though the situation certainly was not. "On the one hand, we need this operation to succeed. Yet, on the other, the officer that we had thought would lead the op is currently leading the investigation of Mesa's attack on us."<p>

Admiral Hamish Alexander-Harrington, Earl of White Haven, looked at her questioningly, "When you start a conversation like that, it usually means that you have some wacked out way to remedy the situation. So spit it out and be done with it."

"First, I realized that I know a couple officers who are due for promotions. I think that we've talked about them a bit. One of them is a talented young Ensign; the other was a petty officer at damage control when Silesia hit the fan, I think that she's a Commodore now."

"Honor, aren't three battle squadrons _just a bit_ too much for a very junior Rear Admiral of the Red?"

"Just a bit, therefore we're only giving her a single squadron with an outsized screen."

"So, you're downsizing the attack?"

"Nope, a certain other tech-weenie-turned-Admiral will also be part of the plan, so it will actually consist of six BatRons. I believe that you may know this one, she gave us a royal pain at Bolthole, Admiral Foraker?" The last phrase wasn't quite directed towards Hamish, and the door opened to show the figure of a woman in the uniform of a Havenite Admiral who nodded to the two more senior Admirals and sat down.

"I believe Honor has one more point to make before I go into the details of the mission," Admiral Foraker said politely.

"Yes I did, I think that this situation gave us one good opportunity because of the closing of Saganami. I believe that Lieutenant Mozak should be assigned to Rear Admiral Lewis' staff as her Flag Lieutenant."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I Apologize for the much longer wait than for the last chapter, Back to school after break is a little more busy than I remembered from the last year. Thanky you all for your great (helpful) reviews and comments. I hope that you'll enjoy this next chapter!**

Landing City  
>Manticore<p>

Both of their personal minicomps beeped simultaneously. The messages that those beeps heralded were shockingly similar. They both included promotions and orders to the same task force. Both Ginger Lewis and Catherine Mozak looked up at each other, again at the same time as one another, grinning maniacally.

After a couple seconds of this silence, Ginger managed to utter a single sentence, "Well, I guess that the Admiralty doesn't think that ATC will be able to open for a while."

It took them both a couple minutes to regain the composure that the moment was due. Then Catherine spoke, "I guess we should both find our uniforms and head over to Admiralty House then. This'll be the second time I've gone in just over a week, is that some kind of record for an Ensign?"

"Probably, but I think that a budding midshipwoman once did slightly better than that."

As she followed Ginger down to the aircar parking area, Catherine's thoughts wandered. _What could this assignment be about? We are at war with the Solarian League and with the Mesan Alignment. Yes, they are currently almost the same thing, but technically, they are separate entities. Mesa barely has one ship of the wall still intact, while the League's Navy has a couple thousand obsolete ships of the wall and about two hundred MDM podnoughts. Based on this, wouldn't Mesa be the more likely target, or is that my opinion just because I want to see Manpower completely and utterly destroyed a whole lot more than I want the Solarians dead?_ Catherine did not want to voice her questions because she would get the answers to them by the time that they had started on their way for whichever target the Admiralty deemed fit to be the objective of the first offensive Manticoran operation during the entire war.

The ride to Admiralty House took less than ten minutes. Those ten minutes were filled with conversation that avoided their orders like the plague. When they reached the several-hundred-story building, they were shown in by a harried-looking Lieutenant Commander. When the lift stopped, he spoke, "Ensign Mozak, your appointment is at the first room to the left. Commodore Lewis, yours is just across the hall from Ms. Mozak's."

_The view is actually quite impressive,_ Catherine concluded, sitting in the appointed room, waiting for some senior officer to formalize her promotion and orders. _One would think that spending several years in a city where counter-grav was applied liberally during its construction would allow one to acclimate to it, but every time I look out the window when on the several-hundredth floor, it still blows the mind of one raised in a society when useful space travel was the next best thing to unattainable._ "…still, we're trusting the most important battle since Third Manticore to a bunch of _engineers, _damn it, not tactical geniuses like Admiral Obersteegan or Harrington." The voice that brought Catherine's mind back to her surroundings was distant, male, and gravelly.

"We are sending twenty-four wallers in against a fleet that barely masses as much as one of our Battle squadrons, not a whole lot can realistically go wrong now that their stealth tech is behind ours again. And Foraker isn't exactly a tactical virgin, she defeated the last two Mesan attacks on Havenite space with less than perfect intel. Lewis isn't bad either; did you hear what she did at Second Monica? Anyways, time to shut up, we have another appointment here." As the second speaker, this one female, finished talking, the door opened and two officers in the uniforms of Commodores stepped in. The woman was holding the polished box that was always used to formally present promotions to officers in the Royal Manticoran Navy. Once they both sat, she, in a very formal tone, said, "Ensign Mozak, you have been given orders to Rear Admiral Lewis' staff, however at as an Ensign, you are too junior to be given the position that has been requested of you. Therefore, the Admiralty has authorized your promotion to Lieutenant, Junior Grade." She handed Catherine the box and continued, "Lieutenant Mozak, you are hereby assigned to the position of Flag Lieutenant on the staff of Rear Admiral of the Red Lewis, Commander of Task Group 13.2. Dismissed."

Everyone stood, turned towards the door, and walked into the hallway. Catherine, being the least senior officer in the room waited for the other two to pass her before heading out behind them. When she stepped into the hall, she heard the slam of a door and the click of its archaic, yet still effective, tumbler lock. Before she had even a second to process those events, the sight of the inside of the barrel of an anachronistic handgun set Catherine's instincts in motion.

Her first was to drop to the floor. The instant her hands touched the ground, the handgun fired. The 8.5 gram round flew just over Catherine's falling head at nearly 350 meters per second, transferring its tremendous kinetic energy uselessly into the table of the conference room that she had just left. Her second instinct, once crouched low, was to draw her 'ceremonial' sword. In Catherine's case, the standard issue sword had been replaced with a fully functional Grayson style blade. The full length of the hundred-fifteen centimeter steel sword flashed as Catherine slammed its flat into the head of her attacker, a well-muscled Lieutenant of about forty. The handgun clattered to the floor as the blow temporarily distracted him, but before Catherine could react, he recovered and snatched the sword from her hand and tossed it aside. Catherine made no move to recover it, as it was clear that it would be of little use to her against her opponent.

Instead, she called upon the skills that she acquired on pre-Diaspora Earth, an ancient Oriental martial art, informally referred to as kickboxing—more formally as Tae Kwon Do, for her response. Even though she hadn't formally practiced the art for the more than six T-years, the basic techniques were so deeply engrained that Catherine wasn't sure if she could ever forget them. She launched herself at her attacker_—after all; the best defense is a strong offence_—sending a swift kick towards his chin. The reaction was only just quick enough to keep his head from being subject to a collision involving nearly three hundred newtons of force. After easily batting aside his counter-attack, Catherine found herself executing a spinning kick that she hadn't tried since she was in the academy. This time, the blow landed home. He was thrown into the wall of the hall and crumpled upon contact.

It was at that moment Catherine heard another shot. Grabbing her sword, she looked down the hall to its source, and saw a redheaded commodore standing in front of the crumpled form of an attacker nearly identical to her own.

* * *

><p>Master Chief Warrant Officer Sir Horace Harkness wanted to hit something. As a man in the uniform of the RMMC passed by, he reflected that at a time, long ago, he would not have hesitated to vent on the Marine with a good, solid punch. Yet that was long ago, and it would not do for him to indulge that impulse now. He had just looked over a message that had greeted him instead of the usual mound of paperwork that had become the norm during the last few months. Two things on the message were the cause of his frustration: the first was the first name listed, Lieutenant Catherine Mozak, and the second was the last line of the shrewd report: "Mesan involvement likely."<p>

In the past week and a half, that line had appeared on at least six separate reports to the ONI Department of Domestic Investigations. The first was the nearly disastrous bombardment of Saganami Island, then was another foiled assassination attempt on Fleet Admiral Harrington, an attempt on Admiral Truman's life, no more successful than the previous two, the assassination of Admiral Givens, putting Vice Admiral Tremaine in the position of Second Space Lord and head of ONI, and finally, the newest development, what looked like the attempted killing of the Navy Lieutenant who happened to be at the epicenter of the Saganami attack. He was responsible for the Investigation on this final incident and, as he liked making sure things were done right, was about to debrief the same Lieutenant that had seemed to attract so much attention from the Mesan Alignment's assassins and special operatives. _Why did all this happen right before we were about to launch a devastating attack on their capital world, this'll probably mean that I will not see shipboard duty for at least another three to six months. Argh!_

"Sir, Lieutenant Mozak is here." A burly Petty Officer announced to the room at large, even though the remark was addressed to Harkness.

"Show her in, Petty Officer." It was less than four hours after the incident had occurred, and no one had offered anyone involved the opportunity to wash up. Therefore, when the young woman walked in with an almost immaculate uniform, he was genuinely surprised. "Lieutenant Mozak?" He asked, unable to believe that she could have foiled an attempt on her life while still keeping her uniform reasonably free from wrinkles and blemishes.

"I am Lieutenant (JG) Mozak, Master Chief Warrant Officer, sir." She had been at attention and saluting crisply since she had entered the room, yet her formal stance seemed to intensify as she responded.

"At ease, Lieutenant, and just call me Chief Harkness, I would prefer even less formalities, but I think that the Petty Officer over there would object, so I guess I can live with that little thing." She relaxed, yet was still more than a little on edge. It was understandable, he supposed: she had just come within inches of being killed for the second time in just under twelve days. "I would like to ask you a few questions about the incident at Admiralty house…"

* * *

><p>"We've grossly underestimated the size of their fleet. I just got a piece of information that says that there are at least ten battle squadrons sitting in orbit around Mesa, though between forty and eighty percent of them are Solly warships. However, we can be pretty sure that they will still be there when Thirteenth fleet reaches the system in just under four days." There was worse news to receive just after the fleet reached, and passed, the point where no Manticoran ships could pass it on the way to Mesa and warn them, however the only possibilities that Prescott Tremaine could think of were a case Zulu, and the news that that same fleet had been destroyed. He now wished that it had been Fleet Admiral Alexander-Harrington who was sitting on the flag vessel of Thirteenth fleet, but Grand Fleet was needed at Beowulf to fend off another seventy ships of the wall that were headed in.<p>

Admiral Alice Truman, First Space Lord of the Admiralty nodded gravely. "This is the one time where I will wish that we had never found the Torch terminus of the Mesa Hyper Junction. At least then, we would have had the time to call the whole thing off before it all blows up in our faces. I hope that Lewis and Foraker are able to pull it off, because, between you, me, and the bulkhead, I don't think that even Obersteegan or White Haven would have been able to.

"Speaking of White Haven, he was wondering how soon it would be before he would be able to open the Academy and ATC back up again."

"Well, I've finished my investigation there and have handed over to BuPers for repair and renovation, and from what I could tell; they were hoping to have it open by next Friday. On a similar topic, it occurs to me that it would be about time for the Commandant of ATC to be rotated again, how well do you think Admiral Gold Peak would fit the post?"

"Well…"


	4. Chapter 4

HMS _Intangible  
><em>Flagship, Task Group 13.2  
>Hyperspace, between Erewhon and Congo<p>

"Missiles inbound! They will be in detonation range in 139.4 seconds, mark." The assistant tactical officer for the HMS _Intangible_ announced as every ship of the simulated Mesan System Defence Force fired double broadsides at the Task Force. Immediately following the announcement, the thirty pod-carrying superdreadnaughts and their consorts bellowed nine thousand missiles of return fire.

Of those 9000 missiles, 1000 of them were Apollo relay birds, leaving eight thousand ship-killers and EW warheads, four thousand of which were split evenly between the five SDs of the MSDF. None of them had any chance, nearly six hundred missiles made it through the counter-missile fire for each one of those SDs, turning all of them into expanding balls of plasma.

The screen wasn't any better off, as nearly as many missiles were targeted on each of the battlecruisers and heavy cruisers that were helping to deepen the missile defence field for the task group. The only thing that allowed one of them to escape the onslaught of fire was its size relative to the volume of space the MSDF had occupied. However, there wasn't a single living being left on the ship—the inertial compensator had failed while the ship was accelerating at nearly 450 standard gravities.

The Mesan missiles were not quite as numerous as 13th fleets, due to the sheer size differential between the two forces, but because of pre-deployed pods, they still had managed to throw nearly six thousand missiles into space. The Grand Alliance's missile defence was much better than that of the Mesan fleet, and so, only fifteen hundred of those missiles made it into attack range. Of those fifteen hundred, nearly eight hundred were armed with not warheads, but penetration aids and electronic warfare suites. However, the other seven hundred mounted laser warheads, and they had been split between the six ships of one of TG 13.1's SD squadrons, two of which took heavy damage, while the rest got off with relatively minor casualties.

Every display in the entire task force stopped showing its usual information and switched to an image of Admiral Shannon Foraker, commander of 13th fleet. "Ladies and Gentleman," the image started to say, "You all did an excellent job in this simulation, however, it was one of ONI's more optimistic estimates. Yet, since you all have been doing so well the past few days, we will not conduct exercises tomorrow. Enjoy your day off. As you were." Every display flashed off, then showed exactly what they had before the Admiral's announcement, as if nothing had happened.

* * *

><p>The call was impeccably timed, Catherine decided, as she had woken to her alarm only seconds ago. Slipping into a robe, Catherine checked the ID tag on the incoming transmission. Seeing that it was Admiral Foraker, she hit the 'accept' button on the comm terminal. "Admiral Foraker," she started, "To what do I owe the honour of this call?"<p>

"Good morning Lieutenant," The Admiral's reply was the next best thing to immediate, because instead of using old style communications systems, which were limited to data transmissions at light speed, every ship in Joint Fleet 13 was equipped with the RMN's most modern generation of the FTL comm, with extended ranges and higher transmission speeds and bandwidth. "It's nice to see that I am not the only one who cherishes every moment of sleep that they can get, yet also manages to be completely alert when the time comes for interpersonal activities just after waking up. I had Captain Hearns review your last paper on your estimates of Mesa's naval power and abilities, and she believed that you did a superb job at analysing the most likely worst-case scenario that could occur when we arrive in-system. She also thought that your analysis of the best tactical course to take coincided very closely with what her own would have been in that situation.

"In fact, because of this, she recommended to me that you should, as a sort of exam that would count towards your ATC credit, write the simulation parameters and command the Mesan defence force for the next training exercise. I've already gotten Admiral Lewis' permission and all I need now is your willingness. Of course, you do not have to, but my staff, Admiral Lewis, and I all think that it would be a valuable experience for both you and the crew. Do you want to do it?"

"I'll probably go a bit beyond the worst-case estimation that I wrote about in my paper, but I think that, if that idea is fine with you, I would be honoured to write and run the next exercise." After finishing her reply, Catherine waited politely for a moment, and seeing that, besides a short confirmation, the Admiral had nothing more to say, bid her good bye and cut the circuit. She stepped to her personal terminal to check when her next scheduled appointment would be, and, in seeing that she had none until just after her lunch break, set to work in devising the exercise scenario that would set the stage for their assault on the capital of the Mesan Alignment.

Catherine's thoughts were rudely brought back to reality when the growling of her stomach told her that she had completely forgotten to make herself anything to eat for breakfast. As she stood up, a slight twinge in the area of her Achilles tendon told her that food was not the only thing that her work had caused her to neglect. First, she walked to the micro-cooler that was the privilege of her position on a flag officer's staff and grabbed the closest thing to her hand when she reached in. She pulled out a small box of the chocolate-chip cookies that she had made before the _Intangible_ and the rest of the fleet had departed from the Manticore Binary System. _Not the healthiest of breakfasts, but what I need is sugar and something with high energy content, categories in which these cookies certainly fit._ She popped one into her mouth, took another out to eat in a moment, and put the rest back in the cooler to have later. After which, Catherine put on her uniform, grabbed a gym suit and headed to the common exercise gymnasium.

* * *

><p>SLNS <em>Sherlock Holmes<em>  
>Flagship, Task Force 1435<br>Mesan Orbit

Just now, Admiral Justin Gillam fervently wished that his task force were anywhere but in the system of Mesa. He had been on his way to reinforce the Skylar picket when a Mesan dispatch boat had contacted him just before they had taken the last hyper bridge on the way to Skylar itself and ordered them, _ordered_ them, to assist in the defence of the system. Upon arrival, he was told, in no uncertain terms, that his force had become effectively assimilated by the Mesan Defence Force, and that he was to obey all orders from the system without question and at all costs. They had already kept his task force in Mesa for three weeks. What made the affront even worse was that his was the second-largest formation of the new _Detective_-class superdreadnaughts, and that he had no authority to refuse to picket even the most inconsequential of planets, thanks to a clause in the constitution that had not been paid any attention for last couple of centuries.

His brooding was interrupted by the beep of his communications unit. The Admiral pressed the answer button, hoping, foolishly, that the message was from the Mesan System Defence Force, giving him leave to depart. However, He was greeted with the face of his Intelligence Officer, Rear Admiral Herald Sheldon. "Admiral," he started, "I have the intel update from Mesa that we've been waiting for. I'll—"

"Sheldon," he cut the junior admiral off, "I did order you to send me any new intelligence reports that we receive, _not_ to contact me when you received any new intel. Send the report over." With that curt line, he cut the link and opened the document that had just appeared in the 'urgent' area of his download. _Just shows how bureaucracy has hurt our Navy; I give an _Admiral _orders, which he then messes up with the mistake that even an Ensign wouldn't make twice. I'm sure that even Haven, at the height of its Legislaturist issues, hadn't screwed its armed forces over so much._ He started to read the report.

It did not look good, he decided, as it stated that just over six battle squadrons of Manticoran and Havenite vessels were en route to Mesa. His task force had ten modern battle squadrons while the MSDF had only three conventional superdreadnaughts and no pod-layers. The one thing that they did have was dozens, if not hundreds of their new "spider drive" vessels, which, in effect, would be invisible, semi-mobile missile pods with built in fire control in any reasonable battle. The Manticoran EW was still far superior than even the best modules installed in his wallers—the newest in the fleet—yet, on a per ship basis, the balance of power was approximately equal to that of Manticore and Haven when Manticore had introduced FTL controlled missiles. In other words, whenever their ships encountered even a single Manty, they were royally screwed unless they could close the range to about 70 million kilometres.

He hit a button on the console next to his comm unit, which activated and showed the face of a weary-looking Marine Corporal. "Corporal, please ask my Chief of Staff to report to the briefing room immediately." Turning around, the Admiral picked up his beret and walked through the doorway onto the flag bridge, turned to his right and continued into the briefing room. About thirty seconds later, his Chief of Staff, Vice Admiral Eleanor Nolan, followed him in.

"Eleanor, did Herald send you the intel dispatch?" Admiral Gillam asked, without preamble as the tall, dark haired woman walked into the room.

"He hasn't sent it to me yet, but I could guess what it says, based on your expression. I bet you read that a force of Manties is on its way. And your stance says that you believe that we cannot beat them." Her tone was supremely confident, as it always was. It was disturbing, how she could read him like a book, even after he spent months trying to learn how to hide all emotion from others.

"To have any chance of defeating them, we need to take them by surprise. Do we know where they are coming from?"

"You're the one who read the report, yet, if I would hazard a guess—this is going to sound pretty insane—I think that the attack is coming from the system of Congo."

"That is insane; they'd have to travel nearly 500 light-years through the meat of League Territory."

"Not if there is a hyper bridge directly between Congo and Mesa. How else do you think Manpower put their facilities on 'Verdant Vista'?"

Her point had logic. "So will you talk to the MSDF Admiral and ask him to share the location of the terminus that the Manticorans are probably going to arrive through?"

"Of course, sir. And I'll even make sure that we get it." With that, the Vice Admiral saluted, turned, and left the room.

* * *

><p>SLNS <em>Ptolemy<em>  
>Flagship, 19th Battle Fleet<br>12 Light-Hour Limit: Sigma Draconis System

"Sir! Hyper Footprints! They are at a bearing of one-two-zero by three-six-point-niner at a distance of four light minutes. Four point sources." Commodore Paul Kotz was more surprised than concerned when he announced the unexpected arrival of four ships just over six-light hours from the star Sigma Draconis.

"Commodore, does CIC have any info on their impeller signatures?" Fleet Admiral Andrew Treichel sounded slightly bored as he asked the question that was the only suitable response to Kotz's announcement.

"Yes, sir. CIC says that the impellers belong to large couriers, frigates, or really small destroyers. Shall I hail them?"

"Go right ahead, it's not like we have anything better to do while we sit here."

:

"Admiral, they say that they're from Mesa, and that a fleet of Manticorans will be arriving in-system in three days. And—," Kotz's incredulity was painfully evident as he continued, "—you are not going to believe this—they are requesting our assistance to repel the Manties—and they expect us to be able to stop them! I told them that they were crazy, but they said that there was a hyper bridge connecting Beowulf. In this case, I think that it is the only occurrence of such, it isn't even in the same area as the Beowulf terminus of the MWJ!"

"Is that even _possible_?" The Fleet Admiral asked in a burst of astonishment that was unfit for his rank. However, he quickly regained his composure and, in a calmer tone, continued, "No, if they're here, of course it's possible, but if they expect us to help, we're going to have to transit the wormhole. In order to do that, we need the info on the damn thing. Try and get it."

* * *

><p>Auxiliary Control, HMS <em>Intangible<em>

"Alright people," Catherine felt odd addressing those who outranked her by light-years almost as subordinates, even for an exercise. Nonetheless, she tried not to let it show as she slid into the final stages of the pre-simulation brief, "I know it's almost time, but jet's hit the high points one last time; we will be controlling the Mesan System Defence Force, repelling the Manticoran invaders when they emerge from the Mesa-Congo Hyper Bridge. We have been able to snag ten battle squadrons of Solarian League Naval units for the defence of the system. We then can add our two divisions of SD(P)'s and accompanying screen to that and eighty spider-drive gunboats.

"We do not have any fixed fortifications guarding the wormhole terminus and our fleet is stationed in orbit of the planet, thirteen light-minutes in-system from the hyper limit. The good thing is that we do have the rudiments of the FTL comm system and we will be able to detect, within minutes, when they come out of the junction. When we detect them, we will head out on an intercept to where they will arrive from they're micro-jump to the hyper limit. On the way we will roll 300 pods per ship and limpet them to our hulls, once we get within 50 million kilometres, we will launch and engage in earnest. The gunboats will lie in wait 20 million kilometres from the projected interception point, and when the enemy truly drops out of hyper in-system, they will reposition as necessary. They will engage as soon as they get an acceptable range. Any last-minute questions?"

There were none, and Lieutenant (JG) Catherine Mozak hit a button on the command chair's terminal to comm Admiral Foraker. When her face appeared on the screen, Catherine announced, "Well, Admiral, I believe we are as ready for this as we will ever be. Shall we bring the sim online?"

The Admiral smiled, "I will start the fleet-wide alert."


End file.
